A/N: This took forever, but I hope you like it. For those of you who LOVE to find canon references, the background story on this chapter was taken LOOSELY from "The Noble Bachelor," one of the shorter, lesser known Conan Doyle stories. Let me reiterate LOOSELY. There's also some bits of intrigue on the Gabriel front that will be resolved in the next chapter or two. Anyway, I'm explaining too much. Let's just get to the chapter, shall we?

Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabriel.

Gabriel sat in the window seat, staring out across the vast courtyard behind the inn where they were staying. It was one of those pristine old manors that had been turned into a stuffy old hotel where people like to have parties and weddings. He should have been excited. From his vantage point he could see an enormous hedge labyrinth, an open field where people were riding horses and a sparkling creek. He knew that creek well. It wound in a thin coil all the way into Halifax and behind St. Christopher's Convent. It was the same creek he'd fallen into almost a year previous.

He was supposed to be unpacking the clothes he wanted to wear to the dinner party, but he couldn't seem to concentrate. He kept thinking back to the ghost of his past that he saw at the café. At first he couldn't be sure that it was the Mother Superior. She wasn't wearing her habit or the simple dress she had sometimes worn in town. Her clothes were plain, but they were like a regular person's clothes: trousers, a modest blouse, brown shoes. Nothing that would suggest that she was still a nun. Other than that, she looked exactly as Gabe remembered her. Those cold eyes and a sour expression that made him feel small and afraid. Her hands had been clutching a bulky handbag and he recognized the gnarled, bony fingers. He knew that she saw him. Those fishy eyes stared right at him as he was coming out of the toilets. She looked both scared and angry. It was a look that made him feel nauseous, so much so that he almost ran back into the bathroom to throw up. His father had asked him a few more times in the car afterward what had happened, but Gabriel didn't want to tell. He was embarrassed that he was still so afraid of her.

"Wow! I'm almost jealous of Gabriel's room." Molly and Sherlock crept through the door adjoining the two rooms.

"It's ridiculous," Sherlock groused. "A child does not need this extravagant a room. He could have just stayed with us."

"Well I told Simone that and she just reserved two anyway. It will be fine." Molly stole a glance at Gabriel who had barely acknowledged their presence and continued staring out the window. She sat down beside him on the seat and brushed her fingers through his hair affectionately. "You ok, love?"

Gabriel nodded and sighed. "I wish Cat had come with us."

"Do you miss her already?" Molly giggled.

Gabriel nodded. "She would like playing in that field over there with the horses."

"When I was a little girl, I loved horses," Molly said. "I always wanted to learn to ride, but there was no one to teach me."

"I'll teach you," Sherlock said, idly flipping through the magazine on the side table. "There isn't much to it, really, as long as you aren't afraid of the horse."

"Is there anything you can't do?" Molly asked with a sarcastic smirk.

"I'm rubbish at letter writing, cooking and crossword puzzles."

Gabriel shrugged and curled up on the seat again. "I'm scared of horses."

"Oh, horses are nothing to be scared of," Molly said.

"They're very big," Gabriel replied. "Katie said her mom took her for lessons and the first day, the horse threw her off. She didn't go back."

"What kind of an idiot puts a five year old on a horse by themselves?" Sherlock grumbled. "I wouldn't let you ride alone the first time. Maneuvering on an English saddle is tricky." Gabriel wasn't paying attention to his father. His mind was far away, still trying to work out his predicament. "Gabe? Are you sure you're all right? You're awfully quiet."

Should he tell his father who he'd seen? He should just forget about it and go about his business. He was bored inside the hotel and he longed to go and play outside, but what if he saw her again? What if she followed him here to the hotel? What if she told his dad about all the things he'd done at St. Christopher's? He hadn't thought they were so terrible, but maybe they were. He didn't want his dad to think of him differently if she revealed that he was a bad little boy. "Dad, will you take me to see the horses?" he asked.

"Well… yeah… I guess so." He looked puzzled and glanced over his shoulder at Molly. "Want to go see the horses?"

Gabriel bit his lip, shaking his head slightly at Molly. He wanted to talk to his dad alone. Molly must have gotten the message because she smiled warmly and shook her head. "I don't think so. I have some things to do before the party tonight." She leaned in and kissed Gabriel's crown and Sherlock's cheek before disappearing into the other room.

OoOoOo

Minutes later Sherlock and Gabriel were striding across the courtyard toward the open field where the horses were wandering. Neither had said a word yet, but Sherlock could tell that there was something preying on the little boy's mind. He looked genuinely perplexed. "All right, Gabe. I know there's something simmering in that big brain of yours, so out with it. What's the matter?"

Gabriel started to reply, but the words died on his lips three times before he was finally able to mumble a worried, "Dad…"

Sherlock stopped and knelt down in front of him. "What is it, Gabe? There's obviously something going on and I'd like to help. But I can't help if you won't tell me what it is. Now I've pretty much guessed that something happened at the café, so just fill in the details for me."

Gabriel heaved a sigh and took Sherlock's hand, leading him over to where the horses were standing at the gate. The animals immediately came over and whinnied softly at Gabriel. He giggled and stepped back a little, still not sure of them. Sherlock smiled and took the one closest by the bridle and nudged it closer, stroking its muzzle. "She likes you, Dad," Gabriel said.

"She likes to be petted and probably thinks I have an apple or a sugar cube in my pocket." Gabriel noticed that there was indeed an apple lying on the ground near them. Reaching down he picked it up and handed it to his father. Sherlock offered it to the horse and Gabriel laughed as she gobbled it up, crunching it between her teeth. "Good girl," Sherlock whispered to the horse. There was another apple on the ground and Gabe picked it up. "Why don't you give it to her this time?"

The little boy looked worried. "What if she bites me?"

"She won't. The reason that there are all these apples on the ground is because people bring them to feed the horses. They're used to taking them from your hand. Try it."

Gabriel took a deep breath and walked over to the horse, holding the apple out like an offering. The horse whinnied again and Gabriel gasped, but didn't take the apple back. "Don't you want it?" he asked.

"Get it closer to her," Sherlock said. Gabriel did and the horse gently took the apple from his palm, crunching it noisily. "See. She's very gentle. She'd probably be a good horse to ride."

Gabriel giggled as the horse licked his fingers. "Do you think they like it? Being ridden, I mean?"

Sherlock shrugged. "They're horses. They probably don't think much about it."

"I don't think I'd like it. Somebody putting that heavy saddle on your back. And then having that thing in your mouth all the time. And what if some heavy guy got on your back? You'd have to tote him around—I bet it would hurt."

"I'm sure they get used to it. And most people ride horses for sport now, not to go long distances." Gabriel nodded. He still looked thoughtful, but finally mustered up the courage to pat the horse gently on the nose. The mare gave a satisfied neigh and nuzzled his hand. "I think she likes you."

"I guess."

"So, you were saying about what was bothering you?"

Gabriel sighed. He could never change the subject with his father effectively. Sometimes, it was really annoying that he was so smart. "Dad, if somebody is mean to you, do you have to be nice to them afterwards? Like if you see them in public?"

Tricky question. Sherlock wasn't particularly nice to anyone. Especially those that might have wronged him in the past. Once again he was faced with being honest or telling Gabriel the appropriate, parental thing. "Some say that forgiveness isn't really for the person that's being forgiven but for yourself. To release yourself from being angry anymore."

"Is that what you say?"

"Well… I think it depends on who the person is and what they've done. I'm afraid I fall miserably short when it comes to such things. To begin with, there are very few people about whom I care much what they do or say. For another thing, I seem to have a difficult time with the actual forgiveness part. I hadn't seen my own father in five years when he was dying and even then I had a hard time letting go of all that had happened between us."

"So what did you do?"

"I told him I forgave him so that he could pass on with a clear conscience."

"But you didn't really?"

"I tried." Sherlock ruffled Gabriel's hair affectionately. "I probably understand him better now than I used to." Gabriel smiled and took his dad's hand. "So who do you need to forgive?" Sherlock asked, leading Gabriel toward the stables. "Or is it you that needs to be forgiven?"

"I'm not sure," Gabriel sighed.

"What do you mean, you're not sure?" Gabriel stopped and pulled on Sherlock's arm then stretching to be picked up. "God, Gabe… you're almost too heavy for me to pick up like this anymore."

Gabriel shrugged and stared at his father with his wide blue gaze. "Dad, do you think I'm bad?"

"What? Why would you think that?"

"I don't know," Gabe sighed. "But if you found out something bad that I did a long time ago… would you think I was bad?"

"Gabriel, you're my child. I would never think that you were bad. I might not like something that you've done, but I will always love you. No matter what."

"Well I know that," he replied with his 'duh' face. "But if somebody told you I did some bad stuff—would you think I was bad?"

Sherlock paused and put Gabriel down, kneeling in front of him again and gripping his shoulders gently. "Gabriel, what is this all about?"

"Dad, I saw the Mother Superior at the café."

"Oh." Sherlock straightened up and stepped back from Gabriel. His fist was clenched tightly at his side as he processed what the boy had said. He could feel the bald-faced hatred rising beneath his skin and suddenly he wished that Molly had come with them. Or John. Both had a calming effect that he desperately needed at this particular moment. He was quite certain that if Gabriel happened to point her out this second, that he'd have no trouble whatever in beating her to death in front of all these witnesses. There were only five people in the world of whom Sherlock was violently protective and Gabriel was at the top of that list. If he could manage to get his hand on this woman, he would make sure that she bore the same scars as his child. "Did she say anything to you?"

"No. She saw me, though. She even waved." Then, without warning, Gabriel covered his face and burst into tears. This only made the skin at the back of Sherlock's neck tingle and prickle once more. Gabriel was extremely emotional in a way that was sometimes difficult for Sherlock to understand, and the thought that someone unseen could make him cry was infuriating. And when he was able to pull Gabriel's hands away from his face, he could tell that the child's tears were not of sadness, but fury. "What if I see her again?"

"Gabriel, you have nothing to fear from that woman ever again. If you see her, if she speaks to you- you just let me know. And it will be dealt with."

OoOoOo

The day of Simone Roberts's wedding to Mr. Harry Doran was one of the most beautiful in Molly's recent memory. The skies overhead were an almost unnatural blue and the sun shone brightly over the wedding festivities, despite Sherlock's dour mood. Surely her friend's marriage would be truly blessed after being held on such a magnificent day. "I don't understand why these things have to stretch into forever," Sherlock groused. "Molly, if we ever get married, it will be a twenty minute affair with perhaps ten people in attendance. All of this ostentatious display of an antiquated ritual is really unnecessary."

Molly's smile was plastered on her face as people from her past filed by. "Some people enjoy declaring their love and intentions publicly."

"No they don't. All of this is to justify the sex holiday."

Molly slapped her hands over Gabriel's ears. "Little pitchers…"

"Oh come on, Molly. Surely you realize how silly all of this is. And a little creepy if you think about it. A sacrificial virgin in a white dress offered to a man on an altar. There's candles an even a little bit of chanting—"

"Those are vows, Sherlock," Molly said through her teeth.

"It's still creepy. And you and I have proven that we don't have to endure this torture just to have sex." Molly's ears burned as the vicar approached, obviously hearing the last part of Sherlock's statement.

"Molly Hooper?" the vicar asked, taking her hand and shaking it gently.

"Yes?"

"I thought that was you! Thomas Spencer—we went to school together!"

Molly gasped as recognition washed over her. "Oh my Gosh! Thomas!" she shrieked, embracing him immediately. "I haven't seen you in ages!"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as this new person embracing his Molly with such familiarity. He wasn't sure he liked it and one glance at Gabriel revealed that his son felt the same. Thomas was short, for a man, light-ish hair that was coarse and straight, standing up at odd angles. He had these pretentious little glasses that he was constantly pushing up on his nose and his common brown eyes seemed to be overly wide as he examined Molly. "Sherlock Holmes," he said, finally, stepping forward and offering his hand.

"Oh!" Molly started. "Yes, Tom—this is Sherlock. My… uhm… well…" She was very aware of his loathing of the term 'boyfriend.' And she refused to call him her 'sexual partner.' Of course, given their conversation before, he was most definitely not her fiancé. "…detective?"

Sherlock smiled pleasantly and gripped the vicar's hand tightly. "Boyfriend."

"Wow. Really? I mean… good!" Thomas answered with an awkward smile and a slight wince at Sherlock's grip. He was visibly relieved when Sherlock released his hand and he knelt down to Gabriel. "And who is this? He's not your little one, is he, Molly?"

Gabriel looked affronted that he was being spoken at, not to. Adults did that sometimes. Assumed that because he was small that he couldn't speak for himself. That was one of the things he liked best about his dad—Sherlock always addressed him as an equal person. "No. I'm Gabriel Holmes." He stepped closer to his father and grabbed hold of his jacket. "And I'm not little."

The vicar laughed and stood up straight, ruffling Gabriel's hair. "He's charming."

"We rather like him," Molly replied, looking at Sherlock as if he'd taken leave of his senses as he hooked his arm possessively around her waist and pulled her body closer.

Thomas looked at her a little too long, then shook his head as if trying to clear it. "I'm sorry for staring, Molly. I just… you're so different. You look so… beautiful."

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Doctor Hooper is an exceptional beauty, vicar. I'm surprised you never noticed before. Aside from the harmonious arrangement of her features, her eyes are a most unusual color of sable and her mouth, while small, is a rose-colored palette from which can be painted the most exquisite of smiles. Of course, that's probably the least interesting thing about her. She's also a doctor and the head of the pathology lab at St. Bartholomew's Hospital in London. Not to mention the numerous articles she's published in medical and forensic journals internationally. She's also an excellent cook."

"Oh… yes! I mean, Molly is one of a kind. She was just always so shy…" The vicar must have realized how ridiculous he sounded and immediately closed his mouth. "So nice to see you again, Molly." Molly smiled apologetically. He leaned forward to kiss her cheek, but a slight curl of Sherlock's mouth made him think better of it and he scurried away.

"Smooth, Sherlock," Molly grumbled. "That wasn't very nice, you know. He was my friend, once upon a time."

Sherlock snorted. "Not anymore."

"While I'm flattered by your jealousy, you can't tell me who my friends should be."

"What are you talking about? I'm not jealous!" Sherlock turned his nose up in a defiant sneer. "I just… didn't like the way he looked at you. And the way he said 'beautiful' like it was an insult."

Suddenly, a commotion on the other side of the courtyard made everyone stop and stare. A security guard was having an altercation with a young gentleman at the gates. The young man was obviously frazzled with his wild hair and disheveled suit.

"I'm sorry, Sir! If you don't have an invitation, you can't be admitted to the wedding!"

"But I'm a very good friend of the bride—Miss Roberts." The man fidgeted with something in his pocket. "I've just lost my invitation."

"I'm sorry, Sir…"

"Simone!" The man began to shout the bride's name, trying to push past the guard as he spotted her in the receiving line. "Simone! Don't pretend you don't know me! That nouveau riche American isn't for you! Simone!" He was still shouting as more security surrounded him, pushing him forcibly back through the gates.

"Hmm…" Molly sighed. "Leave it to Simone to have a broken hearted suitor." She wound her arm through Sherlock's and took Gabriel's hand at her other side, leading them toward the hall where the reception would be had. "She was always too flirtatious. Leading boys on something terrible. I always knew it would come to no good."